Living with wild abandon hasn’t always had good results. Oh, it’s ripe with possibility for learning and growth, there’s no doubt of that. And I am all about growth. But other people don’t always understand my no-holds-barred approach. I have been hurt in the past upon discovering that what I thought was a melding of the minds (and hearts) was in reality rather disconnected. In retrospect, I could have asked questions and received answers. I didn’t. I could have furnished a lengthy list of my experiences and asked if those things were shared. I didn’t. Instead I made assumptions, and we all know what happens when you do that. And for that I suffered.

But I’m an idealist. I love my ability to see into what I think is the future and tap into juicy possibility. I believe I have the power to help make things real with this ability, and creating the world is one of the passions I possess. Because I’m an idealist (like Anne Frank), I insist on continuing to see the good in people’s hearts. I believe that throwing myself into what I feel to be true will yield positive results in the end, growth notwithstanding. And I believe that the suffering I experienced in the past helped me become the me I am today, and I am truly happy to be that person. I don’t regret any of it, not really. Not much.

There is a situation now that keeps calling to me to apply wild abandon. Every internal indicator tells me that doing so would be totally amazing. Wonderful. Magical. Immersing myself, hurtling off the cliff, would be — I believe — the height of ecstasy. My internal indicators (and there are many) assure me this is so.

Yet. Things are unfolding, petal by petal. It’s not hurtling, but blossoming. I am not sure what to make of this except to go with it, because I believe the end result will be magical. Wonderful. Amazing. Is.

It is. I am.

P.S. I debated whether to hit “Publish” on this post for two days. Ironic? Losing my abandon?